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wait around for the dust to still, don't believe that it ever will

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“You can’t be here.”

She watches her pull the door almost closed. Natasha knows who and what is in that back room. She had set most of it up. Crooked is so much easier in a red dress and heels with bows.

But Carter doesn’t know that. Peggy Carter doesn’t know enough, and she knows too much. Natasha doesn’t have time for liabilities and distractions.

It never stopped her before.

“You’re wearing my dress.” Natasha looks her up and down again. It is a great dress. Carter has the stems.

“I’m wearing the dress that was left in my rooms.” She doesn’t fidget, Natasha notices. Her accent going stiff and prim, like her hands.

Natasha tugs on one of Carter’s earrings, traces the matching necklace with her thumb.

“I don’t care. The fact remains, Miss Carter, it looks stunning on you.” Natasha steps closer, breathes out slow, rolls her shoulders in, watches Carter follow all her movements. “I also insist that-“

“Please, do not finish that thought, Miss Romanova.” Carter throws a look over her shoulder. When she looks back up at Natasha, shrouded under lashes and calculating in a way only Natasha can appreciate, Natasha smiles slow.

“And don’t you start yours, Miss Carter.” She smiles again and lets it drip off her face. “I know what’s next out of that pretty mouth. I don’t want to hear it.”

She turns away, then turns back faster than Carter can catch, slides her arm around Carter’s waist. For all her show, Carter still gasps, her fingers curving, catching on Natasha’s sleeve, not pushing away.

“Don’t you want to see me later, sugar?”

Carter pushes. “Aren’t you skipping town?” When she looks up, there’s fire in her eyes. The same one that made Natasha break her rules. “It’s not my first trip downtown.”

Natasha lets go of her, meets her steady gaze. “I’ll stay if I have a reason, Slim.” She slides her hand back in her glove, turns to look at Carter over her shoulder. “You know where I’ll be if you want to give me one.”

“I’m sure I have no idea.” Carter’s got her hand on the doorknob. Natasha has to scram. Carter doesn’t know yet where she wants to land when this deal falls.

Natasha smiles, glittering and hard. “Don’t make me no difference,” she drawls. “I won’t wait.”

And she leaves Carter sagging against the door, decisions on her shoulders.

Natasha doesn’t think it’s going to be a hard one.